


Messy

by cucumber_of_doom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumber_of_doom/pseuds/cucumber_of_doom
Summary: Abigail is being reckless and Hannibal has to teach her a lesson.(Set during Abigail's stay with Hannibal in season 2)





	Messy

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the dubcon warning. While Abigail is not forced into anything, Hannibal is a manipulative piece of shit in this.

Hannibal is in good spirits as he pulls into his driveway, stops and kills the engine. In his mind he replays the performance of _Turandot_ he attended that evening, the most perfect parts already committed to memory to revisit later. The music had been exquisite and the company during the intermission pleasant enough, which was exactly what he had been hoping to find. 

His good mood only lasts until he exits the car and steps out into the cool night. He stills, surprised by what his senses detect: there is smoke in the air; the aromatic smell of a well tended fire, fragrant from good quality firewood. His own fireplace, he identifies and that is most certainly not right, because his house guest knows not to make her presence known to the outside world.

Abigail.

She is a smart girl – has to be, having survived her father for as long as she did – one who knows how to placate those who kill out of love. He waits for the day she figures out Hannibal is a different kind of beast. It appears like she needs another reminder of that, a little guidance in how to behave to not prematurely outlive her usefulness. At least there are no lights facing the street and the situation can still be salvaged.

Hannibal locks his car, then walks to the front door and goes inside. The house is mostly dark and he takes of his coat and shoes in the foyer without touching the light switch. Standing in the near dark he can see light seep around the edges of the closed door to his study, which faces the back garden and should be hard to spot from anywhere else as long as the blinds are closed. That, and the neighbors who might be able to see it would not have been able to observe the supposedly only inhabitant leave hours prior. Still, her behavior need correction.

His socked feet are silent on the polished floor, as are the well oiled hinges of the door to the study. It is there that he finds Abigail, sitting cross-legged on a few pillows in front of the lit fireplace. She doesn’t notice him entering, looking ahead into the flames with a book in her lap and at least two glasses into the bottle of wine sitting next to her on the floor. Hannibal’s mouth pulls downward in disapproval.

He allows her to drink, not thinking much of the legal drinking age in the US. The palate needs to be schooled carefully and early, which is unlikely to happen if someone of voting age is not allowed to savour a glass of wine after dinner. What he cannot abide is drunkenness for the sake of drunkenness, especially not with something as fine as Abigail has chosen for her evening entertainment. Good wine deserves attention.

Hannibal watches her bring the half full wine glass to her lips once more, then loosens his tie.

“Hello, Abigail,” he says and she flinches, almost spilling wine onto the floor as she turns too quickly. Her face is flushed, too much for alcohol alone and Hannibal smells something else over the aroma of wine and fire: The unmistakable scent of arousal. Not only reading then, if his memory of Steinbeck’s _East of Eden _serves him right. Interesting.__

__“Hannibal!” she exclaims, then fidgets, looks over to the fire and back at him. Nervous. “How was your evening?”_ _

__Hannibal takes off his suit jacket, walks past the sofa to place the discarded jacket on it’s back._ _

__“Pleasant, this far,” Hannibal says, walks over to his favorite armchair and undoes his cuffs like nothing is amiss. Abigail tugs the hem of her skirt, fingers toying with the fabric when he sits down._ _

__She looked more comfortable in her little nest of pillows before he made his presence known, but still makes for a visually pleasing addition to the room’s decor. Her wardrobe – naturally - has been picked out by him. Mostly out of necessity to keep her continued existence a secret, but also to nurture good taste in the girl._ _

__The dark green skirt ends just above her knees, soft, cream colored turtleneck sweater covering the scar on her neck. Nothing trashy, never in his house, but he notes that her legs beneath are bare, feet in thick, green socks. Cozy, at least in front of the fire. Stepping away from it is bound to make her feel chilly._ _

__Abigail’s eyes stay fixed on him as he carefully rolls up his sleeves, baring his arms up to the elbows. From this angle he can see how blown her pupils are as the follow his movements._ _

__The psychiatrist in him whispers words like _trauma_ and _captor bonding_ while the predator merely cocks it‘s head, curious what she might do next. She also is a teenager and him the only person to fixate on. Now how to use it to guide her into the proper direction?_ _

__“Come here, Abigail,” he says and she trembles, staying where she is for moment, all wide eyes and wine stained lips. If he didn’t know better he would think it was on purpose. But she is not, being too afraid of who and what she is in every regard. All the easier._ _

__“What have you been doing all evening? Getting drunk and fantasizing… about what, I wonder?” Hannibal muses, inclining his head the tiniest fraction as he looks down at her. Abigail blushes and he pats the right arm of the chair, repeating: “Come here.”_ _

__This time, slowly, she stands and inches forward, her eyes wide until she comes to a stop in front of him. He can smell her arousal from where he sits, salty and fresh. There is no mistaking it for anything else._ _

__Her breath quickens the longer Hannibal stays silent, the moments stretching between them, but she does not run. Thinking about it, maybe, until Hannibal speaks again._ _

__“Your panties have to be a mess by now. Better take them off,” he orders, voice low and Abigail does as she is told. She hikes up her skirt just enough to pull down her panties with shaking fingers and steps out of them. They hit the floor with barely a sound, a wet spot barely visible on the light material._ _

__“Messy girl,” Hannibal tuts. He raises an eyebrow, then pats his knee. “I hope you know better than to my leave my trousers in a similar state.”_ _

__She steps forward – only a little hesitation this time - until her chins bump against his chair and then further still. Abigail straddles him, her knees tucked between his legs and the plush arms of the chair, kneeling upright and waiting for whatever he decides to offer._ _

__Hannibal takes another moment to watch her. She looks equal parts exited and terrified, an entertaining look and he has no intention to go easy on her. He is still cross with her, after all, bu this can be an opportunity for learning._ _

__He puts a hand onto her bare tight, raising goosebumps as he slowly pushes upwards underneath her skirt. A shaky breath escapes Abigail’s lips once he finds the slick place between, lightly skimming over her outer lips, feeling the dusting of hair. He strokes lightly, slowly, just teasing. What he wants is for her to ask, but no words come._ _

__It’s then that he decides: if she doesn’t want to speak, so be it. She needs to learn that her decisions have consequences._ _

__“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Hannibal says before she can change her mind. Her eyes widen and for a moment even settle on his face, but keeps her mouth shut. Good girl. His fingers skim her clit and she bites her lower lip, eyes again fixed on some point above his head._ _

__She is tight when he slips two fingers inside her, but wet enough that there is no notable resistance. Hannibal knows she is a virgin, being her daddies scared little darling. She was too smart to let anyone close, not with a father as jealous as hers._ _

__His fingers slip in and out of her cunt, thumb circling her clit and her legs shake, radiating warmth through the fabric of his suit pants._ _

__Hannibal curls the fingers inside her and Abigail whimpers, hips bucking to seek more friction. He lets her enjoy herself for a moment, then puts his free hand on her hip in warning._ _

__“Don’t get greedy,” he warns and angles his thumb so her clit bumps against his nail instead of of skin. Abigail yelps and clamps a hand over her mouth, hips stopping their rocking motion._ _

__“One word from you and will stop, but you are going to listen to me,” he goes on._ _

__Abigail nods, eyes pressed shut and straining with the effort of keeping still. He brings her close, then stops when he hears her breath pick up. He uses his slick fingers to trace her folds, listening to an almost-sob born from frustration._ _

__“You have been very naughty tonight, Abigail. You have proven that you can’t be trusted on your own, especially not around alcohol. This can’t happen again.”_ _

__He slips the fingers back into her cunt and rubs her g-spot. Too slow to get her off, but enough to get her attention. They lock eyes – Hannibal’s calculating, Abilgail’s wide with too man conflicting emotions. Panic. Want._ _

__Hannibal goes on: “No light in the upstairs rooms when I am not home and certainly no fire. That was reckless and I won’t tolerate stupidity. But that is something you already know, which makes your lapse in judgment worse. I could almost think you are trying to be rude.”_ _

__She flushes even more, shame warring with her want for him to move just a bit faster. He starts circling her clit again and she bites back a moan._ _

__“You also won’t plunder my wine collection again. No more drinking for you, if it makes you think with your cunt,” he concludes and Abigail comes, her muscles clenching around his fingers. He lets her ride it out and only pulls out his fingers once her breathing slows. She has to lean onto his shoulders to keep from slumping down, somehow still aware enough to not start making a mess of him now after it is over. Scared of what he might do. Still a smart girl._ _

__After only a few short moments Abigail scoots back. Her feet search for the floor as she climbs off his lap, finally finding hold and she pulls down her skirt where it has been pushed up her tights. She steps back on shaky legs, one hand clutching the sleeve of her sweater._ _

__Hannibal crosses his legs, pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his hands. She can’t meet his eyes._ _

__“Go clean up your mess,” he says calmly, then gets to his feet and looks down at the lone pair of panties. “I want this room in the same condition you found it when I come back.”_ _

__He walks to the door, then stops and turns._ _

__“Abigail? Did you hear what I said?”_ _

__She is where he left her, standing between the armchair and the fireplace. At his voice she looks up, not flinching this time. Her eyes flicker around for moment, then meet his._ _

__“Of course. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”_ _

__She sounds almost normal, slipping the mask of the innocent girl people want to see in her back into place. It has served her well enough in the past and once again it makes her the perfect bait._ _

__His smile, when it comes, shows too many teeth._ _

__“Good girl.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me rambling about writing and a lot of random blogging, visit my [tumblr](http://cucumber-of-doom.tumblr.com/) because that's where the cool kids are.


End file.
